For I Have Sinned
by DragonDancer5150
Summary: In alternate realities, we all have twins . . . but what if our twin did not make the same choices we did? On hold until further notice.
1. Prologue

December 6, 2004 - Hey, everyone! ((assuming there are at least two people out there paying attention - otherwise, every "one" LOL Yeah, yeah - I know what they say about assuming . . .)) There is an explanation as to where this idea comes from - with an awesome pic by my friend Thief (TheThiefKuronue) - but I think I'll reserve those for the next chapter so I don't give anything away. ((evil chuckle))

("The Disclaimer") "Yu Yu Hakusho" and all known related characters do not belong to me. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

" . . . For I Have Sinned"  
byDragonDancer5150

Prologue

_Dear gods . . . _

_ This cannot be, not like this! Gods, just this once grant me mercy. If I am dreaming, help me to wake. Please . . . Don't let it end this way!_

Kurama suppressed a shudder of horror as the heavy wooden door swung open, swallowed the sudden lump in his throat at the sight of the countless hostile eyes glaring in at him. Guards defined a narrow path between him and the platform in the center of the town square, halberds borne horizontally to hold back the angry mobs. No matter how many times he replayed in his mind the events of the past several, confusing hours, he could make no sense of what had befallen him but that he was somehow trapped in a nightmare from which he could not awaken.

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Icy sheets of rain blinded Kurama as he walked home in the dark. The Biology Club meeting had run far later than he had expected, what with the heated argument over what to do with their budgeting deficit and the upcoming Regional Science Faire. The sun had set completely and this thunderstorm had been unexpected. He had managed to avoid the drenching for most of the trip home via train and bus, but the last five minutes' walk from the closest bus stop was unavoidable.

A particularly violent flash of light startled him, but it was neither that nor the sharp growl of thunder directly overhead that made him pause his steps. Energy of a different kind crackled in the air, and the hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end. With it, the street lamps went out, dropping Kurama into even deeper darkness. The energy surge was unlike anything he had sensed before but was certainly supernatural in nature, not completely unlike the shift of energy he felt when he traveled to the Spirit or Demon Realms. Briefly, he switched his schoolcase into his right hand and held up the left, willing his periphery key into the palm. It pulsed faintly but otherwise lay quiet, inactive. He knew that it only worked when he consciously activated it so whatever had happened, it was not connected. Dismissing the key, Kurama shook his head and continued on. He was close enough to home that he did not need the streetlights. He knew the way blind, and his part youkai nature gave him nightvision far superior to any normal human. Besides, this storm should have driven Hiei to find shelter. Kurama knew he should get home soon to answer the expected tapping at his bedroom window.

He had not taken two steps before his foot slipped sideways over the edge of a flat, smooth surface, like a broad river stone. He looked down and caught his breath. The smooth cement sidewalk had been replaced by uneven cobblestone. His eyes snapped up to the houses lining the street around him and the catchphrase from a well-known American movie came to mind unbidden. "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto." He could not recall in that moment which character was Toto, but he could not help wondering briefly if he were not, in fact, in Oz. The surrounding neighborhood was just as alien. The single-story homes appeared to be built of wood, thatch, and possibly even wattle and daub. The design looked to be a blending of traditional Japanese architecture and something out of the Middle Ages of Western Europe. He continued down the road for a few more yards until he reached an intersection where he could read the road signs. The names were the right ones, but the signs were cured and painted wood hung on wrought-iron posts. What was more - the signs were written in Romaji. No, not just that. The language was, in fact, English! He shook his rain-soaked bangs from his face and turned left down the cross street. Home was only six houses down from here - if it were there at all.

The architecture was wrong, but the numbers painted down the wall between the front door and the small, mica-paned windows were unmistakable. An intangible warning itched at the base of his neck between his shoulder blades as he slowly walked up what would have been the driveway had there been need of one - he realized that he had not seen a single automobile since the surge of alien energy. He had been staring at the front door and did not take notice of the bushes along the porch until one branch scratched the back of his hand. He looked down and his breath hitched in his throat. Roses, indigenous to the Human Realm, had not been a part of Kurama's arsenal of weapons before his rebirth in a human's body, but a large part of his choice to have them identified as his trademark now was that they were his human mother's favorite flower. For as long as he could remember, Shiori had lovingly tended the American Beauties that bordered the front porch. They had been in full, glorious bloom that morning when he left for school. Now, not a single open flower nor new bud still remained on the branches but littered the ground in a trampled, ruinous mess. In fact, the bushes themselves looked as though they had been viciously beaten with a stick or -

A baseball bat lay in the grass not far from the corner of the house, the polished surface stained red and green.

Kurama felt the muscles in his shoulders tense around the warning itch as he turned away from the destruction. There were mysteries upon mysteries here and he would get to the bottom of them - starting with the front door. He had pulled his house key out of his pocket out of habit, but there was no keyhole in which to insert it. He faced a medieval portal of thick, vertical wooden planks bound by wrought-iron bands, the customary spherical doorknob replaced by a simple iron latch. In spite of all the clues he had been given up to this point, it was then that he was suddenly, finally stricken with the feeling that this was not his home. It was and yet it was not. He stepped up under the roof's overhang, out of the pouring rain, but could not bring himself to open the door on his own. He found himself knocking before he could really decide on another course of action.

"Who's there?" a cautious voice demanded. It took Kurama a moment to register the language in which the words were spoken.

He hesitated for a moment. He was aware that his stepfather knew English, but that he should answer the door in the language was unusual. "Hatanaka-san? It's . . . it's Shuichi."

He sensed a sudden wrath wash through the door a second before it was flung open. "You!" Hatanaka snarled, glaring at him with more fury than Kurama had thought possible from the gentle man. "How dare you return here, you youko half-breed?" Kurama fell back a step in the face of the man's unexpected anger.

"Katsu, who is - ?" Shiori glanced out the door over her husband's shoulder and her question died with a horrified gasp. For a moment, she could only stare, her eyes full of hurt and shame. Then she turned away with a choked sob as Hatanaka pushed her protectively further behind himself.

"Dad?" Shuichi-kun called, coming around the corner from the kitchen.

"Go to your room," Hatanaka commanded over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off of Kurama. "Now!"

Shuichi-kun glimpsed Kurama past his father's arm. The young boy's eyes went wide in fear and he hurriedly obeyed without a murmur.

"As for you," Hatanaka growled, pulling a sword from the scabbard hung by the door, "I swore if you ever came back - "

"NO!" Shiori cried suddenly, desperately clutching at his arm. She turned pleading eyes to her son. "Please, Shuich - . . . I-I mean, K-k-kura-ma, please . . . just go away." She buried her face into the back of her husband's shoulder as the tears finally overtook her.

Hatanaka glanced briefly at his wife before turning a cold glare back to the intruder. "You heard her. If you ever cared anything for her in your accursed life, you'll turn around, walk away, and never come back. You have until the count of ten. One . . . "

Kurama stumbled back in shock, flinching as the rain pounded him again. The door slammed shut, and he heard a deadbolt slide into place. His schoolcase fell unnoticed from his limp hand. What in the name of the gods just happened?

Lightning flashed again and Kurama thought for an instant that he saw and sensed someone to his right, at the corner of the house. He had the impression of gleaming red eyes but, when he looked, there was nothing. Had that been Hiei, he would have known . . . would he not? He began to investigate but, as he reached the corner, he caught the sound of a boy sobbing uncontrollably, the noise muffled as though in a pillow. Again, Kurama backpedaled, hurt and confused. Once more, he took in the sight of the strange houses around him. What had happened? Where was he?

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"Move, youko."

Kurama stumbled forward as a guard shoved him roughly from behind. He stifled a murmur of pain from the man's palm hitting several whiplashes and regained his balance awkwardly, not helped by the fact that his hands were bound behind his back. Reluctantly forcing one foot ahead of the other, Kurama started down the path through the crowd, the path to his death.

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Author's Notes: Please be sure to check my bio page for any updates, etc. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 1 Betrayal

July 3, 2005 – Wow! I am so, sooo sorry it has taken so long to continue this fic! My world kinda fell apart a little in the middle of the Christmas season and I found myself facing a cross-country move. However, I'm back on track and stronger than ever! Still, thank you, Meiroh, for reminding me that there are people out there who are reading my stuff even if I don't know it. However, it _does_ help if y'all let me know! Heh, otherwise I sit here wondering sometimes if I'm just talking to myself! LOL Contact me! Lemme know you're out there! I don't bite, I promise! ((big grin))

Anyway, while I had said that I would reveal the source for this story in this chapter, I'm gonna make y'all wait (heh, "y'all" – can you tell that I've moved from California to Georgia? Or as they say around here, "Ge-AW-gia" heehee). Again, I've decided to wait until the next chapter because there are tidbits of info I want to finish doling out before I do that. However, I PROMISE it's not going to be another five months before the next chapter is posted!

("The Disclaimer") "Yu Yu Hakusho" and all known related characters do not belong to me. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

" . . . For I Have Sinned"  
by DragonDancer5150

Chapter 1 - Betrayal

_Right foot . . .left foot . . . right foot . . . left - _

"Too slow! I said _move!_" The hand struck the back of his shoulder again, further angering the already-protesting whiplashes.

He obeyed silently, blood pounding in his ears along with the cries of the crowd. The only way to ignore them was to focus straight ahead . . . but the dais awaiting him was even more fearful.

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Kurama had lost all track of time. At least an hour, maybe two, had passed since Hatanaka Katsuyoshi had slammed the door on his inhuman stepson, a stepson whom just that morning he had greeted with a warm grin and a pat on the shoulder before leaving with his wife for work. What had changed that the same stepson should be met with such violent anger and rejection now?

He paused a moment and took stock of his surroundings, numbly pushing his soaked bangs from his eyes. Things were as much in place as they were out. There was the café on the corner between Sunrise Way and Harvest Avenue – again, the signs were in English – with the Korean market next to it and a Chinese restaurant. Across the street from these stood a theater and a game store. He looked more closely. Besides the new architecture, the theater exhibited painted hanging scrolls for a live production rather than paper posters for movies. Gone from the windows of the game store were its customary neon lights and, instead of cardboard cut-outs of video game characters, wooden boxes and leather draw-string bags of nothing more technologically advanced than chess, go, and shogi lay in displays on the counters. Again, everything was in English. But . . . where was the American food market? It seemed to have been replaced by some kind of office front. And he still had yet to see a car or any people walking the sidewalks.

In spite of the differences, Kurama recognized where he was. Yusuke's apartment building was not far from here . . . if the building itself stood at all. Kurama had yet to see anything taller than three stories. In that moment, he could not bring to mind just how tall Yusuke's building was, but it was easily more than that. He sighed softly. _Well, nothing for it_, he told himself. _Mom, Hatanaka-san, and Shuichi-kun are here – wherever or _when_ever "here" is – so Yusuke and Kuwabara must be here, too. And Hiei_. Kurama was all but certain that it had been Hiei he had sensed earlier. What he could not fathom was why the youkai would have hidden from him and remained so.

Hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the driving rain, Kurama shook his head. _Nothing has been right since that flash of energy. What happened? _It occurred to him then that he still had his periphery key. _Perhaps I should be seeking out Lord Koenma rather than Yusuke_.

Just as the thought passed through his mind, he rounded a corner only to stop in his tracks at the sight. Where Yusuke's apartment building should have been stood a two-story building that reminded him for all the world of a military barrack. He approached cautiously, horror and curiosity warring for expression. He was halfway to the oaken double doors when a flash of movement left a black clad figure blocking his path. "You're out past curfew, _Kurama._" The words dripped with palpable contempt.

"H-Hiei . . . ?" Kurama had seen such hot fury in those ruby eyes before but never directed at him, not since the misunderstanding by which they had first made one another's acquaintance years before.

"You have a lot of nerve showing your face again, youko bastard," Hiei snarled, reaching for his sword. "You're even more arrogant than I thought . . . or more stupid."

Nearly gaping in stunned silence, Kurama's first coherent thought was the realization that Hiei was speaking in English, just as Hatanaka had. _But . . . Hiei doesn't even _know_ English!_

It was almost too late before his shocked mind registered the sixth sense warning that jolted through the rest of him. By then, he could not react fast enough. Something solid whacked the base of his skull with an audible _crack_, and he crumpled down across the cobbled stones. He rolled to face his attacker just as he heard, "Freeze! Don't move!" The voice was both familiar and alien by its quality of tone. "Hands up over your head where I can see them. _Now!_"

Before he obeyed, Kurama had twisted enough to see whom it was who stood over him, his suspicion confirmed with a dropping sensation in the pit of his stomach. It was indeed Yusuke. He was dressed in a very strange but clearly military-style uniform, braced expertly with a gun cocked and ready. _A real gun, not his Spirit Gun_, Kurama noted almost absently.

Yusuke apparently caught the fact that Kurama was staring at his weapon. "Yeah, that's right, fox-face. Because of our last encounter, I finally earned the right to carry a pistol. So I guess I got you to thank for _something_, huh?"

"Last encounter?" Kurama was shaking his head. "Yusuke, I – What are you talking about? What is going - ?"

Yusuke had advanced closely enough to give him a kick to the ribs. "Don't play dumb on me, youko. And don't you _dare_ use such a familiar tone with me! This pistol's full of Yoki suppressor bullets. Don't _give_ me a reason to empty the clip on your sorry ass." Even as Yusuke spoke, several more soldiers descended on Kurama, two hauling him to his feet with his arms twisted out securely to either side while the rest took up defensives stances with swords and polearms at the ready. Hiei had approached around the group to stand among the gathered soldiers. _H-he stands openly among humans . . . ?_

"Sergeant?" Kurama heard one of the other soldiers speak up from behind him.

"Yeah, what is it?" Yusuke never took his eyes or his gun off of Kurama.

"Uh, sir, is this . . . ?"

Yusuke's scowl deepened, though Kurama would not have guessed that possible. "Sure is, private. Youkai bandit Youko Kurama, the Silver Fox – hiding among us since Shunjun of Spirit Realm's Special Defense Squad failed to off him some fifteen years ago. Clever bastard."

"Wow. The same, huh? T-the one who . . . " The private's words trailed of in a mixture of awe and horror.

"Yeah," Yusuke growled. "You better believe it. I was there."

"Here he comes," Hiei murmured with a nod to one side.

Kuwabara stepped into view just then. One of the soldiers nodded with a murmur of deference to "Captain Urameshi" as he accepted a set of manacles from Kuwabara. The two soldiers holding Kurama forced his arms out in front of him, offering his wrists for the manacles from which he could feel mystical energies emanating. Kurama was stronger than these normal humans. He knew he could easily break free of their hold. Somehow, he could not bring himself to fight, not with his closest friends staring at him with such hate, anger and judgment. Then the manacles were in place and he could feel their dampening effect, locking his Yoki, his mystical energy, from use.

Kuwabara looked him up and down, his expression as cruel as any Kurama had encountered since the energy surge. "Hey, pretty boy. Nice shade of pink." Kurama glanced down at himself, realizing that he still wore the fuchsia uniform of Meiou Private Academy, his high school. "I don't recognize that branch of the service. Didja steal it offa Spaniard or somethin'?"

"Nah, gotta be French," someone snickered.

Kurama ignored them to meet Yusuke's eye evenly, though inside he could not loosen the tension that knotted his gut. "I do not know what has happened or what you believe I have done but - " The butt of the pistol across his jaw cut off further comment.

"You wanna play like you got amnesia or something, fox-boy? I can arrange that! Enough of a beating to that thick skull of yours might just do the trick. Can't say I wouldn't enjoy it, either."

"Sergeant!" Kuwabara snapped with a tone of authority Kurama had never heard from him. "Don't forget your oath."

"You weren't there, Kazuma," Yusuke growled in a low voice. "You didn't see . . . didn't see . . . " He shook with horror at the memories Kurama could see playing behind his eyes.

Kuwabara put a steadying hand on Yusuke's shoulder. "Yeah, I know. I read your report, an' I remember you _tellin'_ me. Still, if we don't follow protocol, we'll be upholding no more order than the chaos that his kind thrives on. As men, we gotta maintain better honor than that. I'll talk to the magistrate tonight. Calladon will make sure this bastard sees justice by noon tomorrow."

Hiei folded his arms with a dark smirk. "Captain, the rain's let up and your men are restless from being cooped up indoors. They could use an amusement to burn off excess energy." He pointed with his chin at something off Kurama's left shoulder, behind the reach of his periphery vision. "Don't worry. I'll make sure the thief's kept in good enough condition to see the magistrate on time." Yusuke was nodding with a wicked grin.

Kuwabara considered it for a moment, looking over the expressions of the men. Finally, he turned his back on them. "I left before Hiei spoke up. I am only aware that the prisoner has been locked in his cell to await his appointment with the magistrate in the morning." That said, he began to walk away.

Obviously it was Kuwabara and not Yusuke who was in charge in this place and time. It was to him that any imploring was to be done. Kurama did not know what the innuendos meant, but he could guess well enough and did not want to have it confirmed. "Wait, Kuwabara! I – " He stopped at the sudden stiffness of his back as Kuwabara froze before whirling on him.

"Where_ did you hear that name?_" he demanded. Kurama only stared back at him, yet again at a loss for a proper answer. The man searched his face for a long moment. "I don't know where you learned that name, thief," he growled at length, "but it is not mine, not any longer. I am Kazuma Urameshi, captain of the 38th platoon of Tokyo Minor . . . not that you'll care for too much longer if I have anything to say about it." With that, he spun on his heel and strode into the building.

Yusuke's cruel grin widened. "Sounds like Brother gave us a pretty _carte blanche_ 'Yes' to me, guys." He gestured for the prisoner to be moved.

"That really should be 'Captain' Brother to you, Yusuke," Hiei commented with a long-suffering shake of his head.

Kurama was about-faced and dragged to a pole buttressed to the side of the building, where his arms were pulled up and the chain of the manacles looped onto a hook over his head. As soon as he realized their intent, Kurama had begun to struggle in earnest, but the Yoki-dampening shackles had the secondary capability of effectively cutting a youkai's strength in half, making him easily manageable by a normal human. He tried several times to find out, at the very least, of what he was being accused but no one did more than laugh and taunt him. They kicked and cuffed him at first. Then, he felt the cold blade of a dagger slipped down the collar of his shirt, slicing open shirt and jacket in a single long cut to expose his back. With that, injury was added to insult as the triple thongs of a barbed scourge tore into his flesh. The group took turns, each getting his exercise, until Kurama's blood flowed freely. The only one who never actually struck was Hiei, but he stood where he could watch the prisoner's face. Ruby eyes staring in wrathful judgment were the last things Kurama saw before darkness took him, as his body surrendered to unconsciousness from shock, chill, pain, and blood loss.

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Trying to ignore the murmuring and growling crowds around him, Kurama nearly tripped on the first step. Slowly he climbed the stairs, fearful eyes locked on the rough hemp hanging above, waiting for him with terrible and infinite patience.

* * *

Author's Notes: Please be sure to check my bio page for any updates, etc. Thanks!

Don't worry, guys. I know what I'm doing. All will be explained in good time . . . ((wicked laughter echoes into the darkness – think Vincent Price at the end of Michael Jackson's "Thriller" . . . or am I dating myself?))


	3. Chapter 2 A More Merciful Punishment

("The Disclaimer") "Yu Yu Hakusho" and all known related characters do not belong to me. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

" . . . For I Have Sinned"  
by DragonDancer5150

Chapter 2 – A More Merciful Punishment  
(or "Silence for Reflection")

Step . . . step . . . step . . .

The stairs were many, the platform high. To fulfill the purpose for which it had been built, it had to be. Even still, he reached the top too soon.

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Kurama woke slowly into a haze of pain, resisting the reflex to arch his back against the whipfire that seared him. He lay still for a long moment before opening his eyes and admitting that he was awake. He could hear voices and thought he might learn something if they thought him still unconscious. Then, shudders wracked him and he gasped with the shock as a bucket of chill water was thrown over him. "Time to wake up, sleeping beauty," a familiar voice coaxed roughly, speaking English.

Kurama suppressed a growl of anger as he shifted and rolled to face his assailant and found his hands bound behind his back. It took his mind a moment to recognize Kaito Yuu, whom he knew from school – or _had_ known, should have known . . . Kurama saw that unconsciousness had not improved his situation. _Well, that would seem to answer the question of whether or not I was dreaming_. He lay in what looked for all the world like a medieval dungeon cell, musty straw offering a thin carpet over the flagstone floor and sticking in place where the stalks had shallowly embedded themselves in the flesh of his bare chest, shoulders, and cheek. Late morning light shone in from a small, barred window high on the wall.

Kaito let him orient himself a moment longer before stepping into the cell, flanked by two more guards wielding short swords. He passed off the empty bucket to the one on his left, then drew a wand of rosewood from his jacket. "Well, now. We can't have you meeting the magistrate looking like that, can we? Let's get you cleaned up a bit." He pulled a pocket watch from another pocket, noted the time, then pointed the wand at Kurama. Crackling energy slammed him, sending him sliding back into the wall, the straw behind him pressing into the whip wounds.

The two accompanying guards went to work immediately: unlocked the manacles that bound his wrists, pulled off the bloody, mud-soiled slacks, passed a quick sponge over his skin, and redressed him. As they worked, Kurama found that he was paralyzed and Kaito explained, "Relax. None of your muscles will work at the moment anyway. Even your heart is not pumping, nor your lungs breathing, so you might as well conserve yourself. Don't worry, though – it will wear off soon enough. Quickly, gentlemen, you have 45 seconds remaining." One of the guards pulled Kurama's hands back behind him after they had gotten a shirt and tabard in place, and locked the manacles back around his wrists. Just about then, Kurama felt his heart start beating again and his chest heaved with a desperate inhalation of breath.

Kaito smirked. "There, now. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Kurama looked down at himself, recognizing some of his own clothing – light gray pants, black loafers, white shirt under yellow tabard, belt . . .

"Everything should fit you well enough. They were confiscated from your own wardrobe. Goodman Hatanaka quite readily allowed us to search your room for anything we needed after you took off almost a month ago."

"Ah . . . perhaps you could refresh my memory," Kurama ventured. "What happened a month ago?" He did not honestly expect much, but any clue –

The question was met only with derisive laughter. "Heh, Sergeant Urameshi wasn't kidding."

"What? You think playin' dumb's gonna get you out of this? Your hide's already nailed to the wall, youko. You just don't know it yet."

"That's enough," Kaito murmured. "Bring him along."

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"Are you even hearing any of this, youko?" the bailiff demanded in exasperation.

Upon having first laid eyes on the judge, Kurama had been forced to school his expression into neutrality before betraying any hint of amusement. Magistrate Calladon looked like he had been costumed to play a part in a theatrical production of some period piece of either Georgian England or the French nobility before the revolution, complete with powdered wig, white make-up and rouge (and even a beauty mark), thick red suit with too many ruffles – Kurama was almost positive he had even caught a glimpse of high-heeled boots beneath the judicial robe as the heavyset man waddled in from his side office to take his place at the judge's bench. Kurama had seen right away from the scowl on the man's face that, very likely, he could expect a less-than-fair trial. As it was, he had yet to have his charges actually stated. Apparently, it was not deemed necessary as there was not one person in attendance who did not already know of what the prisoner was being accused – not one person, that was, but the prisoner himself.

He had been questioned mostly on his past, on his deeds as a full-blooded youko, how he had managed to infuse his failing life energies into an unborn human, why he had chosen the particular one he did, why he had _not_ chosen to leave the family sooner, what had possessed him to do what he did, where had he been hiding, what were his plans now. Kurama had kept his answers as brief and noncommittal as possible, but he could barely formulate an appropriate answer to one question when the next was flung at him or else the "bailiff" – who himself made Kurama think of a poorly-costumed Sheriff of Nottingham – went off on a new tirade against him in particular and sometimes against youkai in general. The man introduced to him as the bailiff seemed like this place or time's equivalent of a lawyer although, to listen to him, one might think he believed himself judge, jury and executioner as well. In his mind, Kurama was guilty, sentenced, and already condemned. It was just that no one else had acknowledged this obvious truth yet.

One fact Kurama did manage to deduce was that the existence of the Demon Realm was common knowledge and that there was some sort of on-going war between humans and youkai as the latter attempted to invade the Human Realm on a fairly regular basis, or so he had the impression.

"Enough of this. Shuichi Minamino, _are_ you or are you _not_ originally Youko Kurama?" the magistrate queried directly. "This is a simple, straight-forward, 'yes' or 'no' question."

Kurama had managed to keep from implicating himself clearly in whatever mess they believed him to have caused, but there was no getting around this one. If he could just get a word in edgewise . . . but he did not know if they would believe him. There was simply too much hostility and charged energy washing around this courtroom full of stern officials and angry onlookers. Still, he had to try. "I . . . yes, I am, but – !"

"There! There you are!" the bailiff fairly shrieked in victory. "He has admitted it with his own mouth. Everyone heard it. My Lord Magistrate, I ask you, what more needs to be stated? He's all but convicted himself!"

Magistrate Calladon nodded sagely. "I need hear no more." He turned steel-gray eyes on Kurama. "You are no longer ever to be called Shuichi Minamino. The Human Realm hereby strips you of that name. It should never have been to given you to begin with. It belongs to the innocent whose soul you usurped and have since paraded yourself in his body like a cheap suit." The man did not even try to keep from his voice the contempt he felt at the thought.

Kurama stared at him, deeply stricken by the accusation. He had been so very careful in his selection. Even as he had once been, he was never so heartless as that! The child would have been a stillborn if he had not – "Your Honor, there . . . was no soul. I-I would not have – "

"Silence!" Kaito, standing guard, backhanded him.

"For that crime alone I should have you flayed alive," Calladon continued in a low growl, disgusted to the core. "However, unlike your kind, we have laws and a justice system that must be followed for order to be maintained. When it was suspected that you escaped into our realm, our authorities were notified by the powers-that-be. I only wish we had been more diligent and pro-active in finding you sooner. Still, found you we have, if too late for a whole new batch of innocent souls."

His steel gaze went positively cold. "By the power vested in me as an officer of the law, I hereby pronounce that you are and forever will be Youko Kurama the Silver Fox. You stand here accused of countless crimes against your own kind back in Demon Realm. Quite frankly, those are none of our concern, and I would normally just hand you over to the Special Defense Squad. However, you have committed crimes here in _our_ realm against _our_ kind as well, and I will personally see you _**punished**_ for those." Something in the way he said that sent icy shivers down Kurama's spine. "The survivors and the families of your victims stand among your witnesses today. I will not reopen their already raw wounds by making them listen to another account of your atrocities, so let me cut to the point.

"Youko Kurama, for your crimes against the human race, your sentence is death by hanging. In the town square, before the witness of our entire community, you will be hung by the neck until you are dead, and may God have mercy on your eternal soul." Kurama felt his knees go weak and he barely caught himself from falling, his legs wanting to buckle in protest. The sentence was pronounced with a certain air of formality, but the magistrate dropped the tone of protocol as he added, "Pray that your neck snaps with the initial drop. Personally, I pray that it does not. Anything so quick would be too humane for you. What I give you now is certainly more merciful than what you offered _your_ dead. Bailiff, see that he is delivered to the executioner in ten minutes' time." At the look of added shock, the magistrate explained with a scowl, "Assembly of the gallows was begun at sunrise this morning. They were tightening the final fittings before we started this superfluous procedure."

"We don't want your sudden shift in weight to bring the whole construction down on top of you, do we?" Kaito asked as he unlocked the gate of the low "fence" of the defendant's stand.

"This way, youko." The bailiff took him forcefully by the arm, dragging him off the stand and out the side of the courtroom amid deafening jeers and hollers. Shaking, he was led down a long, dark corridor through to the back of the building. In spite of himself, he slowed, his feet leaden, as his sharp ears picked up the first sounds of the blood-thirsty crowd on the other side of the thick wooden door at the end of the hallway. He shook his head, in denial in spite of himself. _This cannot be happening. What is going on!_

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He feared that and other questions might never be answered as his feet cleared the top step. Kurama stood on a platform seven or eight feet off the ground, staring in horror at the noose now inches from his nose. He swallowed hard on the lump in his throat, sweat trickling down his face, as his eyes focused past the noose down to the waiting horse-drawn carriage behind the platform, an open casket ready in the bed of the wagon. He thought he had seen something like this once in an American movie about that country's "Old West."

He was shaking freely, his mind numb, as the masked executioner standing next to him grasped him by the shoulders, turning him around to face the crowds. Kurama had managed to avoid eye contact on the way through, but now he could not escape them. Angry faces wavered across his vision, almost blurring together in a sea of derision. Hissing and catcalls threatened to deafen him before his mind locked onto one unexpected sound, the wailing of desperate sobs, and his eyes found its source. His human mother, Minamino Shiori – the one person he loved more than anything in this world or his native one – was present not too far away in the sea of hostility. Her back was to her son, her face buried in her husband's shoulder. Hatanaka stood drawn up to his full height, a pillar of strength for his beloved wife in her grief, his eyes meeting Kurama's with the full power of his own hurt and betrayed trust. On his other side, Shuichi-kun clutched his father's arm, staring openly in pain and mourning. When Kurama's eyes met his, he pulled back with a gasp and looked away, and Hatanaka pushed him protectively behind. Kurama feared his heart would wrench itself from his chest of its own accord. _Dear gods, what is it that they think I have done to have hurt them so?_ The argument of yesterday's club meeting might have taken place in another lifetime for all that he felt connected to those memories now. Had something happened that he truly did _not_ remember? Did he lose time somehow in that shift? Had his youko side subdued his human side briefly? _But no, even the youko_ . . .

A small gasp escaped him, his heart skipping a beat, as the executioner slid the noose over his head, the rough hemp scratching lightly down the sides of his face. The unknown man even went so far as to pull Kurama's long hair free of the noose. He had closed his eyes instinctively as the rope brushed his eyelashes. He opened them again, his head bowed by his chin tucking down in reflex against the rope, and his eyes found Kuwabara – _No, Captain Urameshi_ – standing front and center of the line of guards forming the border between the crowd and those permitted to approach the wooden structure. Yusuke stood on his right, Hiei on his left. All three glared at him as if he were a stranger to them. No, worse – a bitter enemy.

He felt a tear slip free of the corner of his eye. Whatever he stood accused of, convicted of, in that moment whether he had done it or not no longer mattered. He was abandoned. The few people he had ever truly cared for, the ones who had broken his hard shell and shown him kindness, love, affection, friendship, belonging . . . now knew only hurt, shame, anger, grief, and hatred for him. He supposed some of them could have been fooled, but others would have been able to tell if he had been impersonated and framed. Even if Yusuke and Kuwab- . . . Kazuma had been fooled, Hiei would know. His longest friend, his partner in crime, then as a Spirit Detective . . . Hiei would have known if it had not been him. Whatever had happened, Kurama supposed that he _must_ have done it, whether he remembered or not. He still did not know what that power surge had been, and nothing had been the same since, except for him – only maybe he _had_ changed as well, if only temporarily. Either way, he could not deny the charges of his past, and he had always feared that they would come back to haunt him. Now, he supposed, was the day to face _that_ music.

The noose was tightened on his throat, and he closed his eyes, trembling harder than ever. _"Pray that your neck snaps with the initial drop."_ He gasped deeply and his eyes flew back open as the magistrate's words rang in his mind. He looked down at the perfectly square seam in the platform under his feet, the trap door that would drop out from under him. _Historically, most humans' necks did _not_ snap . . . and I know that I am more resilient than a 'normal' human_. With his biology knowledge, his only hope was that the rope cut off the circulation of the carotid arteries, so that he passed out fairly quickly rather than have to be painfully conscious as he desperately struggled and slowly strangled to death! _Gods of mercy . . ._

"Youko Kurama." Kurama flinched as the magistrate's words sounded clearly across the commons from a balcony on the second floor of the building from which the hapless convict had been dragged to this place. "Have you any last words before this sentence is carried out?"

Countless thoughts chased through his mind – questions, arguments, pleas . . . apologies. If he had the chance for only one of these, he knew which was the most important. Perhaps he could turn his pleas and questions later to Lord Koenma or Lord Batsukuno. Another tear slipped down his cheek as he raised his eyes to meet Calladon's, his gaze otherwise steady as fear, regret, resignation, and acceptance all settled in around his heart.

"Lord Magistrate, I do not deny my youko past. It is something I have regretted and striven to leave behind me for some time. Still, I knew that I might have to answer for it some day. But . . . " He shook his head. "I searched almost longer than I dared before I finally found an unborn human that had not yet gained a soul. The one I found would have died without intervention. There was no soul to subjugate. M-mom . . . " His voice broke as he turned his attention to his human mother to find her gazing back at him, her eyes red and swollen from her grief. His own teared up in earnest at the sight.

"I cannot ask you to believe me but . . . this I swear: I would never do anything to hurt you. As a youkai, I never had a mother before you, not one that I can remember. You gave me everything, and I will never forget. You were never supposed to know. It was for your own good. I-I only wanted . . . to protect you." He wished he could tell her these things more intimately, in private, but he would tell her any way he had left. Even if she never believed him, he had said what his heart needed for him to say.

He met Kazuma's quietly storming gaze and Hiei's eyes – oddly unreadable – before turning to a seething Yusuke. "Yusu – . . . S-_sergeant_ Urameshi . . . I honestly do not know what horror it was that you witnessed . . . but I do know that something has happened to me recently, and it may be that I have done something I cannot recall. If I have indeed done such a thing as you say, then I . . . I must accept the consequences of those actions." A finality crushed at his chest with those words, tightened in his throat as even the noose could not do.

A silence settled over the crowd and, for a long moment, no one spoke. At length, the Lord Magistrate broke the quiet. "Is that all that you have to say, then, youko?"

" . . . It is."

"Very well. Then let it be done."

The executioner stepped back from Kurama, grasping a long lever that protruded up from under the platform. _K-CHUNK!_ The trap door collapsed from under Kurama's feet and, with a sickening drop, he was falling.

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Author's Notes: Please be sure to check my bio page for any updates, etc. Thanks!

Relax, folks. I'm not done yet and so neither is Kurama. ((wicked chuckling))


	4. Chapter 3 What Defines Reality?

Holy crap! Has it really been a YEAR since I posted the last chapter? ((mrfl)) I am SOOOO sorry, guys . . . if there's even anyone who's still following this . . .

First of all, I wanted to thank Ensatsu Kokoryuha for the review from . . . heh, /how/ long ago did you submit that review? ((sheepish)). Anyway, I tried to reply to your email, to thank you, but the message would never go through, so I've kept a note to myself to do so here. Also, my thanks to all those who have reviewed since then. I've responded to all of you. At least, I'm pretty sure I have . . . ((sweatdrop)) I try to make sure to reply to everyone who takes the time to let me know they're out there and found me. I don't base my fanfic writing on whether or not I /get/ reviews . . . but it's certainly nice to know I'm not out here alone "talking to myself," so to speak. ((grin))

GAH! I forgot to include the link for the pic that inspired this whole story! ((facepalm)) Gomen! Here it is – you'll have to remove the spaces, of course . . . http:/ fanart .theotaku .com/view .php?action =retrieve&id= 20537 The pic is called "Forgive Me God . . . " and is by my friend Thief (TheThiefKuronue) at the request of a friend of hers, She-Wolf. The title of my fic comes from the continuation of the "quote" given below the pic itself. Now, tell me that does NOT just BEG the story to be told as to just what the hell's going on! LOL! Well, here's the whole original story. She-Wolf asked Thief to do a pic of Kurama being executed. She wanted a medieval-style execution, and she asked that the other three be watching. . . . O_o . . . "That's it?" Yup, that's it. Well, Thief could think of a few ways to die that are stereotypically "medieval" – guillotine, beheading by sword, hanging . . . She decided that a rope noose was the *easiest* thing to draw, so that's what she went with. Yes, that is a noose, not an attempt at some kind of funky headband as some people have mistaken it, thinking that's supposed to be "on" his head rather than hanging down in front of him. Good GAAAAWD, what has happened to put a look like that on his face? Don't you think Thief captured Kurama's terror beautifully? OK, you already /know/ I'm a terrible fan of angst! Bad me! LOL As an artist, though, she really did an incredible job and it was a reeeeeaaaallly long time before I could even /look/ that pic in the eyes without it really upsetting me (but in a good way)! It /still/ bothers me (in a good way). Every time I look at that pic, I just want to throw my arms around his shoulders in a BIG glomping hug and tell him that it's gonna be OK!

By the way, this pic has two companions – "Silence for Reflection" (which is where the secondary title of Chap 2 comes from) http:/ fanart .theotaku. com/view .php?action =retrieve&id =21670 and "The Plunge" http:/ fanart .theotaku .com/view .php?action =retrieve&id= 40695. Oh, heck, just check out ALL her work. She's really done a great job, especially for being only 16 at the time and having been drawing for, like, 4 years. Yeah, it's disgusting, isn't it? LOL JK! Here's the main page for her artwork – http:/ fanart .theotaku .com/artist .php?id=43086.

But anyway, getting back to the story itself – I kept asking myself: What /has/ happened? OK, Kurama has his enemies. There are any number of reasons I could come up with to explain why he was being executed but . . . Kurama's like a rock in the storm. The world could be going to hell in a hand basket and *he'd* be the one braced and ready, not complaining or reacting but working out how to stop it or at least how to lessen the blow. Kurama's not completely unfazable but, OMG, /all/ composure here is just GONE! What would it take to break Kurama's usual shell of calm and preparedness so completely? I mean, he's positively frightened! I've NEVER seen him like that! When Thief told me that there was no "story" behind the pic, I knew I had to find one. It was there, just waiting to be told. It HAD to be. I owed that to my beloved Kurama-kun.

And so . . . this is it.

("The Disclaimer") "Yu Yu Hakusho" and all known related characters do not belong to me. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

" . . . For I Have Sinned"  
by DragonDancer5150

Chapter 3 – What Defines Reality?

Wind whistled in his ears with the upward rush of air – or rather, the downward rush of his body. Kurama figured it was his mind playing tricks on him when an instantaneous sensation of a cross-breeze struck him with the illusion of something black flitting past to his immediate right. He braced mentally for the jolt that would shudder through his body as he – quite literally – reached the end of his rope.

His fall did come to an abrupt stop, but the impact jarred _up_ him from the soles of his feet rather than _down_ from the base of his skull. At almost the same instant, something sharp and slender snagged lightly at the back of his clothing as it neatly cut through the short chain between his manacles without doing him any harm. Simultaneously, his legs collapsed, and he threw down one hand to catch himself, kneeling and shaken, the other hand going in shock to his throat where the noose hung limply around his neck. He sensed someone immediately behind him and he twisted, looking over his shoulder at Hiei, similarly crouched where he had landed with his sword drawn and ready. Before Kurama or anyone else could react, Hiei hauled him to his feet, shoving him towards the wagon. "_Move!_"

Now was not the time to question. Amid startled cries of reaction from the gathered crowd, Kurama obeyed without hesitation, throwing himself up over the low retaining "wall" of the wagon bed and into the casket. He had rolled onto his back with the motion, and he gasped at the whipfire agony from last night's flogging. Hiei sprang to the back of the horse, and they were moving before anyone could stop them. A handful of arrows sailed through the air, one finding Kurama's leg. Shouts of outrage followed them down the street as soldiers mounted and gave chase.

Kurama broke off the shaft of the arrow in his thigh. He would have to deal with the head later. At the moment, he had a very different problem as he realized that the casket was being bounced backwards out of the bed of the wagon, the tailgate still being down. He hardly dared to rise up and expose himself, but he could see no other choice. He scrambled to his knees, trying unsuccessfully to brace against the jouncing of the wagon over the cobblestones. He leaped, diving forward, the push of his feet throwing the casket the rest of the way out the back. As he dropped back down, there was a _crack_ of gunfire and pain lanced through the back of his hip. Kurama grabbed the front slats of the wagonwall, laying out flat, and shook wildly-blowing hair from his face to look over his shoulder. _This is not good_. The horseback soldiers were gaining. Maybe if they ditched the wagon . . .

He straightened to peer through the slats at his rescuer and suppressed a hiss of dismay. An arrow had found Hiei as well, sticking out the back of his right shoulder from directly out to the side so that the shaft vibrated against the wind of their speed. Hiei's left hand was up clutching the offended shoulder, his right hand maintaining a grip on both his sword and the horse's mane.

Well, advisable or not, Kurama could see nothing for it. He pulled his feet up under himself, hissing with the pain of his growing number of wounds. He jumped up and forward over the driver's bench and crouched down on the footrest so that the bench itself provided some scant protection from the continuing onslaught of arrows and the occasional gunshot. From there, he leaped to the back of the horse, startling Hiei. "Kurama, what are you - !"

"We're too slow with the wagon. Give me your sword." Hiei hesitated only a moment. Kurama took the blade and twisted, slashing through both arms of the harness with a single swing. Agony stole his breath as his back spasmed in protest to the motion before he managed to get himself righted once more. With that, the horse nearly unseated both its riders with the sudden burst of speed and power it gained. It displayed surprisingly agility and soon had darted far ahead of the rest.

The next obstacle proved to be the city gate. Tokyo Minor was a walled city – which, Kurama mused, made sense in as much as anything in the past twenty-four hours had. Thankfully, the guards had been lax on the job and could not get the gate closed quite fast enough. Hiei took back his sword and leaped from the saddle, making use of his own unbelievable speed to run ahead of the horse and cut down the guards, pacing alongside as horse and remaining rider flew past. Kurama had never actually ridden a horse before, but the beast was smart enough to follow Hiei's lead, and they pounded off into the surrounding forest.

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"Prepare yourself."

Kurama nodded and braced, pulling backwards as Hiei maintained a grip on the manacle on his wrist, the gelatinous core of a plant from the bank of the stream helping lubricate the attempt. After some effort that left Kurama's hand badly scraped, the manacle slid the last inch over his knuckles and Hiei tossed the hateful piece of metal aside. Without hesitation, they worked the second manacle off and Hiei discarded that, too, Kurama relieved to feel his Yoki unlocked and available once more. Hiei then instructed Kurama to lie down on his stomach so he could cut the arrowhead from Kurama's leg and tend his wounds. They had already removed the arrow from Hiei's shoulder and washed and bound the wound. Kurama manage not to react to the pain so much that he impeded Hiei's work, but the pumice of mixed herbs the youkai applied after washing and cleaning the wounds made Kurama hiss, both hands digging into the grass. Finally, Hiei sat back after wrapping the wounds the best he could with strips cut from Kurama's tabard. He helped Kurama sit up, who looked at him for a long moment before asking the question he had held so as not to distract the youkai from his ministering until he was done. "Who taught you so much about herbology, Hiei?"

Hiei gazed at him, his expression unreadable, before answering at length. "You did."

It had been some time before Hiei let them stop, Kurama recognizing that they had gone in circles a few times, backtracking more than once, successfully throwing off their pursuers. At length, they had stopped by this stream to rest and bandage their wounds, the horse tethered to a nearby tree. Kurama gazed around, recognizing exactly where they were. He had wandered these woods beyond the edges of suburbia ever since his human body had been old enough to walk, and yet . . . something was different, something he could not for the life of him put his finger on. It unsettled him in ways he could not begin to express.

His gaze took in all the sights around them, at once familiar and yet somehow foreign, before his eyes found Hiei's once again, still studying him. It was then that he realized it. His voice soft, he nodded to this longtime friend who might or might not still be. "I have not thanked you for saving me, Hiei. Thank you."

"Hn."

Not that he had expected it, but Kurama could not help hoping Hiei would have said more. Well, not that it mattered. It was he who was the stranger. It was up to him to ask the questions and get the conversation started . . . and this one he _needed_ to know its answer, as it had been bothering him since the rope had been cut and he found himself on one knee, hand clutching the severed end of the noose. "Why? Why did you help me? Why endanger yourself? What made you believe me?"

Hiei hesitated a long moment, then stated quietly and simply, "Your eyes. The truth in your eyes. Mother always said that the eyes are the windows to the soul."

"Mother?"

The conversation that followed would have sounded like a socialist science fiction novel of 1950's American pop literature if Kurama had not already lived the evidence of its validity. Hiei laid out the history of his adopted home country in surprising detail, and the more he spoke, the more of Kurama's questions he answered, the more the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place for Kurama, as impossible as its reality sounded.

When England was expanding her territory in the 1600's, Japan was successfully made a part of the British Empire. Hiei had never heard of the Industrial Revolution, and Kurama determined that the world was still in a sort of medieval or Renaissance era. Steam-powered machinery existed but nothing more advanced than that, with the exception of rumors drifting out of the secluded mountains of Germany and Austria. Society and technology were still very feudal in many ways and, in Japan, heavily influenced by Europe. A massive world war had erupted some sixty years prior, including sea battles, and the catastrophic death toll flooded living energy into the invisible lines of natural, mystic energy, called ley lines, in the Devil's Triangle, a known nautical region of supernatural phenomena much like its sister, the Bermuda Triangle, in the Atlantic Ocean. The explosion of mystical energy ripped open a permanent rift between the Human and Demon Realms. The Kikai Barrier which had been erected centuries ago still held A- and S-class youkai at bay, but lower levels now had free access. The "main tunnel" between the realms still led to the middle of the sea, but "side tunnels" in sub-space led to dry land on both the Japanese islands and mainland China. Now added to the conflict among human countries were renewed humans-versus-monster struggles, more terrible than ever.

Hiei had come to the Human Realm as part of a youkai gang looking to carve a niche for itself in rural Japan. They had not counted on the opposition that "mere humans" could offer, and the resulting fight left Hiei fatally wounded and abandoned as weak and better off dead by his youkai companions. The humans were going to kill Hiei, but a young man, a healer, stepped in and saved him. The man took him back home to his own village, nursed him back to health, and his family took him in as one of them. For the first time in his relatively young life, Hiei had a true family – and it was the humans who offered it as no youkai ever had.

"Where are they now?" Kurama asked softly.

Hiei paused for so long, Kurama wondered if he had heard, or if he simply would choose not to answer as was too often the case, but at length ruby eyes met emerald. "You killed them."

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Author's Notes: Please be sure to check my bio page for any updates, etc. Thanks!


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